“That was lovely,” I whisper.
He smiles, but with a hint of sadness. “I learned how to play with . . . with the person I lost.”
I place a comforting hand on his arm, fingers trembling. “I am sorry, you do not have to—”
“No,” Ren says, the sadness leeching further into the lines of his face. “I have enough secrets as it is. The person I lost was a good friend. The best of friends, really. She was one of the first victims.”
“You miss her.” It is not a question. I take his hand. “What was she like?”
“She always had a kind word and smile for everyone she met. I can’t even remember a time when we weren’t friends. It’s been months, but it’s still strange without her.” His eyes meet mine, searching. “You lost your mother. Do you have that empty spot, too?”
I do. The hollowness has been growing for some time. Yes, something is missing inside me. Empty. A space that was once filled and now is not.
“Yes,” I whisper.
We sit there for some time, our hands intertwined, not speaking. Our pulses beat with the same rhythm.
For a few moments, just before the candles finally burn out, I think perhaps that empty spot can be filled.
DAY THIRTY-NINE
THE SUN WAKES ME MUCH LATER THAN USUAL TODAY, CREEPING OVER my face and clearing the shadows away like cobwebs. I throw off the covers with a start. It is nearly noon. Father didn’t even wake me to feed the chickens.
Could he know why I arrived home so late this morning? That I lingered too long with Ren and his music? I still rescued another girl. That is all that really matters.
I slip into my pale blue dress and tiptoe out of my room. I peek around the corner to take in the kitchen and sitting room. Father nods off in his chair, a book open on his lap, with Pippa snoring beside him.
No hint at all that he is angrily waiting for me to wake up.
I snatch an apple off the counter and sneak past Father to the front door. My roses must miss me. I should be sure they have enough water. The door squeaks as I open it.
“Kymera? Is that you?”
I flit to his side, smiling as innocently as I can.
“Well, I see you finally decided to join us. In another hour I was going to send Pippa in there after you.”
“Thank you for letting me sleep in, I did not intend to do so.”
He reaches out to take my hand. “Are you all right, my dear? Are you having trouble sleeping?”
“Yes,” I say, latching onto the excuse. “I fear I am.”
“Come and sit. What troubles you?”
Though I started out with a lie, many things have troubled me of late. “I have rescued so many girls from the wizard’s secret prison, but more girls are there each night. How does he get them into the prison without anyone finding him out?”
“Ah, that is a good question. The wizard has many people under his sway. They do his bidding and deceive the people they love, often without even realizing it. Those are the ones who take the girls from the hospital when he has sickened them enough, and who you must outwit and avoid each night. Then they leave them in the prison for him to toy with at his leisure. You never know who you can trust. This is why it is so important you only go to the city during the night, when no one will see you. Even if the guards expect you, the darkness gives you the edge you need.”
A cold knot forms at the base of my spine. “He uses them and they don’t even know it? How?”
“Magic, my dear, can do many things. Controlling people’s behavior is only one of them and not the most impressive, either.”
I swallow the sand coating my throat. This confirms what Batu told me a few days ago. The wizard keeps the guards in his thrall. I wish I could tell Father about him, but the blood bond restrains my tongue. I do not like keeping secrets.
“That is awful,” I say, balling my fists into my skirts.
“It is. And it is why we must stop him. Why you must stay a secret and continue rescuing those girls. Only then can we stop him from sacrificing them for his dark magic.”
If only that did not mean avoiding Ren, too! For one long, horrible moment, I consider not stopping by the fountain to see him ever again.
The hollowness inside swells, threatening to swallow me whole.
I cannot fathom it for long—it is too awful. Like it or not, right or wrong, I must see Ren. Every fiber of my body hums at the expectation, and silences at the thought of life without him in it.
“Father . . .” I am not sure how best to put my next question into words. “Is there something wrong with me? Something missing?” I need a way to explain the empty feeling in my chest that persists no matter how many roses or Fathers or Rens or Batus I put into it.
“Wrong with you?” Father places a hand on my cheek. “No, Kym, you are perfect.”
“But I do not feel perfect. Something is missing.”
Father’s face twists. “Ah, yes. Your memories, I suppose.” He sighs. “That is my biggest regret. That is a part of you I cannot bring back.”
“I am not sure that is it.” I frown. Indeed, I suspect my memories are coming back, piece by piece, despite Father’s assurances that it is impossible. Either that or I am going mad. Those are the only explanations for the visions that occasionally take over my head.
“But what else could it be?” Father says.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I guess you must be right.”
I twist the lace edging on my sash. He is not right. Of that I am certain. The knowledge makes my hands feel weak.
Father is wrong.
It is not the memories that left a hole in me, but the things in the memories. Those lost pieces of me that once made me human. The memories of Father that I cannot access. The tantalizing shadows of my mother, but never her face. An entire life that I may as well have never lived for all I can remember of it.
“Can you tell me more of my former life? Of my mother?” I wish to ask so much more—how did I befriend a gardener in the palace? Who was that little blond girl? But I will start small, for now.
My best pleading look falters as Father turns away, covering his face with his hand. It breaks my heart—for both of us. What he cannot bear to say is exactly what I need to know most.
This emptiness is something Father cannot fix.
The moon hangs low and bright over the city as though I could fly up and touch it. I feel like I’m flying all the time now when I’m in Bryre.
Because of Ren.
Father would disapprove, but I can’t help it. My chest stretches full whenever I see Ren, filling up the hollow in my heart however temporarily. Sometimes, I fear I might explode. I wonder if the once-me ever felt this way.
I draw circles around the moon’s reflection in the fountain. Ren is late and I grow more concerned by the second. If I am not back by dawn, Father will be angry. Worse, he’ll know something other than my task keeps me lingering in Bryre.
Suddenly, the world in front of me vanishes and I am in a bustling marketplace, filled with all sorts of people and colors and smells. Carts and horses mash together, but I wander through them as though I know where I am going. Someone’s hand is in mine, warm and soft and confident. I cannot see the person’s face, but there is a faint scent of bread baked with a dusting of cinnamon.
My heart stutters in my chest. Though I cannot see his face, I have no doubt the person walking with me in this sliver of memory is Ren.
Voices echo down a nearby alley, wrenching me back to the present, the sense of happy contentment fading all too quickly.
The once-me, she knew Ren. She knew him and cared for him—
Unless Father is right, and it is just my imagination making sense of fragments. But it felt so real—they all have—that I cannot discount any of them entirely.
The voices grow louder. I scramble behind the fountain and crouch low. My cloak covers all but my eyes and I peek over the brim. I recognize Ren’s voice, but who is he talking to this late at
night?
He comes into view whispering close to a girl’s ear. Her cloak lies about her shoulders and she giggles at something he says. A burning sensation spreads over my chest.
I do not like this girl, with her pretty yellow curls, rosy cheeks, and pale blue eyes. She could’ve stepped out of one of my fairy tales.
I do not like her walking and talking with Ren in such a familiar manner. Not when he was supposed to meet me.
She has no tiny screws at the base of her neck to hide. Her skin is one creamy shade, not the rainbow of pinks and browns that make up mine.
She is unabashedly human, and I am . . . not.
Jealousy.
Yes, that is the word my brain supplies and I think it fits.
They walk closer, passing right by the fountain and my hiding spot. Has Ren forgotten me already? Has this pale creature bewitched him? Why else would he bring her to our fountain? The burning turns into pinpricks, as though the seams that hold me together are coming undone.
It is all I can do not to throw myself on the two of them and rip their eyes out. My fingers ache with the pressure of the claws inside begging to be released. Why would Ren do this to me?
I remain hidden as they head down the alley opposite the one leading to the prison. A moan wells up inside my chest and I’m unable to strangle it. It slips out and echoes off the fountain’s waters.
Ren chose the pretty girl over me.
Is he taking her to the palace gardens? Or the church with its myriad colors? Will he share his music with her like he did with me?
I thought there was something special between us. Something that would not be easily forgotten.
What did I expect? Father warned me it would be this way. That the humans would not understand or appreciate me. No human would want a hybrid like me.
I thought Ren liked me, that he was fond of me. Tears flood my cheeks, and the moon quivers in the sky. I thought Ren was my friend. But he is not. He has already forgotten me.
I know what Father would say. He’d tell me that now, I must forget all about him.
I rise from my hiding place and run to the prison. I’ll take the first girl I see and fly home. I will not wait for Ren at the fountain again.
Shame replaces the tears as I run. I have been distracted lately. I’ve been neglecting the purpose for which I was created. I have betrayed Father. I have betrayed the mother I can’t remember. I have betrayed myself.
For a fickle, foolish human.
I break into the prison, but tonight I’m so angry that I let my fury move me. I do not use Father’s sleeping powder; I climb in through a window, taking the guards by surprise at their post. All seven fall to the floor, unconscious before the ones guarding the girls’ room have the door open. I howl at the moon that lights the place, and one of the remaining guards runs away and into the street. Those who are left have swords drawn in shaking hands and attempt to circle me. I dive through them, tail thrashing from side to side, and they tumble like stones to the floor. The girls in the next room whisper and that gives me pause. I do not want to do the same to the girls.
I pull Father’s vial of powder from my belt and toss it into the room. The girls gasp when it shatters, but soon all noise dies down.
I duck inside the room and sting the nearest girl just to be sure she has no chance to wake on the flight home. Tucking her under my arm, I pull my cloak close and flee the prison.
For a fleeting moment I consider hunting down the man who ran off. I would know him by the smell of his fear, like the rabbits I hunt for dinner. But there are so many people and so many fluttering pulses in each house I pass, that it would take me all night to do it.
No, it is more important that I get this girl to safety. I vanish into the shadows, swallowed up by Bryre’s alleyways.
Behind me, I hear the sound of my name on the wind.
“Kym! Kym!”
I ignore it. I will not abandon my mission again.
DAY FORTY-TWO
I’M EXTRA ATTENTIVE TO FATHER TODAY. I HAVE BEEN SULKING IN MY garden for the last few days. My roses are the only thing that brings me joy lately. Father senses something altered within me, but does not press. He has no idea it has anything to do with the boy he forbade me to see. He’d be disappointed if he did.
I cannot let that happen. Father needs me. And I need him.
I do not need Ren.
This vision I had of Ren and me together has only made it worse. The once-me may have known him. I wonder if he chose that girl over me in my former life, too? Or was I the close friend he still mourns? Given the wizard’s history, I suspect he has lost many friends, not just the girl I once was.
It is very hard not to think of Ren.
It pains me to think his name, as though it holds a sort of magic. When I work in my rose garden, the scent reminds me of him. I’ve taken his pressed flowers from between the covers of my book several times just this morning. He filled me up and now I feel hollow again. The emptiness is worse. It is a strange thing how one person can gut another so thoroughly.
I do not like it at all.
I repeat Father’s tale of the wizard over and over. The wizard would murder every girl in Bryre to sate his thirst for dark magic. He would suck the magic marrow out of Batu. He would incinerate Father. He would destroy Bryre, brick by brick. He would kill me—for the second time.
I will fill up the gap in my chest with my purpose. Father depends on me. I must save the children and find the wizard to destroy him. Only then can Father and I be truly safe.
I tug at a weed and toss it in the growing pile. I wonder how Batu fares lately. I’ve been neglecting him, too. Father has not gone to a market all week, so I have not been able to venture near the river to see Batu for days. Instead I’ve moped around my garden, dreaming of my nightly meetings with the boy I should never have spoken to in the first place.
Pippa whines from her hiding spot in the shadow of the hedge. The earth under my knees rumbles and I sniff the air. Darrell has come for the girls. I could smell him a mile away. I wrinkle my nose, but rise to greet him as his cart rolls into view. He is Father’s friend; I must be nice.
And keep my extra parts hidden. Father has been quite adamant about that. I pull my cloak around me, tucking my tail up and flattening my wings against my back.
Darrell tips his hat as he pulls the horse and boxlike cart up to the house.
“Good afternoon, Miss Kym,” he says. “Is your father around?”
“Of course, I’ll get him and your cargo.” I turn in to the house faster than I should, but I’m still uncomfortable around most humans.
Everyone but Ren.
Father is by the fire, reading a book. “Darrell has arrived,” I say.
He closes the book. “Wonderful. Get the girls, will you? Give them an extra dose. We would not want them to wake up early and be scared.”
“Of course. Darrell wants to talk to you, I believe.”
Father gives a long sigh. “Ah yes. He usually does.” He heaves himself off the chair and it hits me how fragile he is. He’s strong, to be sure, but his work takes a toll on him. All his late-night experiments in the tower basement claim something of him. But he always seems the most tired on the days Darrell comes to visit.
A pang of guilt slams into my chest. How could I have ever doubted Father for a second? Whatever he is hiding in the laboratory is part of his larger plan, I am sure. As always, he will tell me when I am ready for it. If he hasn’t told me yet, the fault must lie with me.
And I have not been as reliable as I’d like of late. Whether I want to admit it or not, Father has undoubtedly noticed. I will do better, keep my focus keenly on the mission, and then Father will see fit to share more of his secrets.
I head for the tower room. One girl sits up on the bed, taking in her surroundings. It’s a charming room, with bright white walls and lace curtains. Every morning I bring our guests fresh roses from my garden, though they are not awake enough to know it is me
who does it. As Father requested, I have not been talking to them.
After Ren’s betrayal, I cannot help thinking Father is right to warn me from getting attached.
I pat the child on the arm. She tilts her head to look at me, sucking on her thumb. She is one of the youngest girls I have rescued.
“Did you eat your lunch like a good girl?” I ask, though I can see the bread and cheese I brought in earlier remains untouched. She twirls her hair with her free hand and shakes her head.
“Are you hungry?” I push the plate toward her. She eyes it warily before reaching out to snatch the bread and stuff a bite in her mouth. I wait until she’s chewed it, then unfurl my tail. Her eyes widen and she skitters back on the bed toward the window, as though she wants to escape.
She will. She just doesn’t understand that yet.
“You need to go to sleep for your journey. Don’t worry.” I smile at her and she whimpers. I don’t understand humans. I want to help, but somehow they never realize it’s help I’m giving. One day, she and all the other girls will understand.
My tail whips around, green scales flashing, and the girl slumps forward on the bed.
The others will wake soon, so I repeat the action with them, then scoop up the first and carry her outside. Father and Darrell are in the middle of a heated discussion, but I hear only the end of it.
“You will get your reward in due time,” Father says.
“That time better come soon.” Darrell’s face is twisted in a way I have not seen before. I do not understand his expression, but I understand his words. What did Father promise him in return for his help?
Father’s face brightens when he sees me. I place the girl on the makeshift cot attached to barred walls in the back of the cart. Darrell’s eyes burn into my back as I retrieve the next two girls from the house. I place them each inside the cart, strap them in for the journey, and wrap blankets around them. Even though they fear me, I feel a sisterly affection for them. They were miserable in that prison. I want them to be safe and happy.
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